ROOSEVELT’S POV

The next morning, I walked into the lobby of the company with my head held high.

I wore a black pencil skirt and a red blouse. My heels clicked loudly against the floor.

But inside, my stomach was tied in knots.

I stepped off the elevator on the top floor. My assistant, a sweet Italian girl named Bianca, jumped up from her desk the moment she saw me. She looked flustered, clutching a stack of files to her chest.

"Good morning, Bianca," I said smoothly, walking toward my office.

"Ms. Evans, wait!" Bianca gasped, rushing to block my path. "You can't go in there!"

I stopped and frowned....